Paper Wings
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Angeal is drunk and Harry is high on pain killers. CROSSOVER SLASH Angeal/Harry


A/N: Inspired by Gillian Welch's song 'Paper Wings'. Another Angeal/Harry, thanks to popularity and my general unwillingness to part with that big gorgeous man.

**Paper Wings**

"_Paper wings, all torn and bent__  
__But you made me feel that they were heaven sent__  
__Paper wings, not real at all__  
__But they took me high enough to really fall__  
__Your paper kisses faded too soon__  
__Just like a paper rose beneath a paper moon__  
__Paper wings, paper wings__  
__Oh how could I expect to fly with only paper wings__  
__Angels were singing, didn't you hear__  
__If only I'd listened close when they whispered in my ear__  
__Paper wings, paper wings__  
__Oh how could I expect to fly with only paper wings__  
__I tried to fly but found that I had only paper wings"_

_-Gillian Welch, Paper Wings_

It'd been one of the worst experiences of his life. Killing Voldemort he could manage, withstanding a Crucio or seven he could manage. Losing people he loved he could manage…barely, and with the crutch of cigarettes and his weight in liquor.

But according to the Healers at St. Mungo's, he could _not _manage whatever cocktail of pain potions and curses the remaining Death Eaters had seen fit to strike him with shortly after kidnapping him. It took the Ministry a full 48 hours to track down their hiding place and get him out of there, by which point he was dangerously close to losing his humanity.

St. Mungo's put their best Healers on it, and they mutually decided that hopping him up on pain killers and putting him in a reassuring and familiar environment until he stopped shaking would be the best solution. A nurse was assigned to come three times a day to feed him and make sure he hadn't injured himself somehow.

Harry spent the first day in bed, passed out. The second day was similar, except he felt his brain cells linking together in some vague semblance of order towards the evening when Nurse Susanna was spoon-feeding him soup. But he still wondered if this was what Luna experienced all the time: ghosts hovering in the corners, smells amplified, and colors wispy and bleeding onto everything…

He took a double-dose of the pain killers when Nurse Susanna left and went into the kitchen for some water. And then he began to hallucinate.

A tidal wave of dizziness came over him and knocked him to his knees. Someone began to knock on the door, the sounds sending vibrations through his fingertips as his hyper-sensitized ears focused on them. He crawled to his feet using the cooling cabinet as a brace. He kept one hand on the wall at all times as he moved glacially towards the door.

When he opened it, a different kind of ghost was standing on the other side.

They were never supposed to see each other again. Angeal was his combat trainer when he was sixteen year from Easter to Christmas. When their illicit affair was discovered by the Order, they agreed to not stain Angeal's reputation but ordered him to leave and never come within 100 meters of Harry again.

Harry had cried for days, feeling like he'd been ripped in two.

But now here he was, Angeal Hewley, the first and last person he'd ever loved.

~000~

Angeal didn't know what possessed him to give into the rising sexual tension that grew between him and his favorite student, but the only regret he had in the aftermath was that they didn't have more time together. Harry had been a brilliant light in his dull life, a force of good and hope that made him reconsider his view of humanity and especially of modern youth.

He didn't know where Harry was now. He wished he knew, just so he could know that he alright, that he was happy. He wanted Harry to be happy, even if it was with someone else.

And then a friend of a friend that worked in the Unspeakable Department at the Wizarding Ministry, and was rather bad about not speaking secrets when he was in his cups, mentioned in passing that Harry Potter was staying in a flat in East London.

Angeal's heart had clenched painfully in his chest as he tried and failed to resist pumping the man for details. Harry's current address was procured, and the thought that Harry would be eighteen now went round and round his head. He tried to silence it with liquor.

He became dimly aware several hours (and half a bottle of cognac) later as he rapped on the door to Harry's flat that he had failed somehow.

The door open, and there he stood; the prime object of his heart, the one person that filled him with terror and tenderness in equal measure.

He looked sleepy, one hand rubbing his eyes as he leaned heavily on the door frame. A t-shirt several sizes to large slipped off of one shoulder, and hung just long enough to reveal the lower inches of what looked like maroon briefs. Neither of them could speak for minutes, hours, days.

And then Harry whispered his name whilst reaching towards him with a single hesitant hand and Angeal could hold back no longer. He pulled Harry to his chest and kissed him good and hard, just like he used to, groaning as a hunger deep within his soul was satisfied. Harry responded slowly at first to the caresses of his lips and tongue, a hand coming up to pet and tug at his hair.

Angeal backed them inside with care, not wanting to step on Harry's bare feet.

As they sank to tiled floor of the kitchen, Harry's back and head resting on the damp mat in front of the sink, Angeal fuzzily remembered that he was incredibly drunk and that this was perhaps not the best of ideas. Harry blinked sleepily up at him, giving him that sweetheart smile that captured his heart two years back.

He crawled on top of him, as careful as he could be, and smiled as Harry wrapped all four of his limbs around him as was his wont.

They kissed forever. Or perhaps not, but it felt that way. Harry crooned and cooed at him in between touches and rubbed their noses together. His feet were cold against his when he toed off his shoes and socks, but he didn't mind. The rest of Harry was warm, and heat radiated from the recently-used oven.

He touched whatever he could reach of Harry, moving his hands in broad strokes along bare and clothed skin alike. Harry sighed and returned the move, though his touches were flightier and less patient. Angeal bent his neck to press kisses to the exposed jut of his shoulder. And then he pulled the shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the other side of the room. It landed on top of a bag of potatoes.

Harry had filled out some since their last tryst, and his shoulders were much broader. He smiled shyly up at Angeal as he palmed his shoulders, his pectorals, his ribs, and stomach. He flicked his navel, and Harry made a gasp-laugh.

He dragged his palm down the soft skin of his stomach to the band of his pants, and twitched a finger beneath them to skitter along the bumps of his hips.

Harry shifted his legs and reached down to work on the buttons of his trousers. There were four of them, and Harry made slow but steady progress on them. Once finished, he used his feet to push them down his thighs, down to his knees. Angeal, smiling, obliged him and kicked them off. His shirt followed shortly afterwards, and he came back down to press their chests together. Harry made a soft sound of happiness and pressed kisses into his hair.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, voice deeper and hoarser than Angeal remembered.

In response he just held him tighter, one of his hands worming between Harry and the floor to squeeze his nates. Harry shifted restlessly against him, a move that Angeal remembered especially well. Fighting a grin at the familiar sign of impatience, he rose onto his knees and looked around for something to use as lubricant.

Harry caught on and pointed at a bottle of cooking oil on the counter. Angeal scrambled over to fetch it, and found Harry pressed against his back just as his hands closed around the cold glass. Harry mouthed kisses across his shoulder blades and the vertebrae that jutted out of his spine, whispering loving words that were too quiet for Angeal to catch the exact meaning of.

He turned and caught Harry's mouth with his. Harry let himself be kissed as he tugged down Angeal's underwear and then his own. Angeal guided him back to the mat and made sure he was comfortable and not liable to knock his head on anything before dribbling some of the oil into his hand. Harry watched with half-lidded eyes.

If Angeal had been sober, he would have noticed that Harry was oddly pliable and submissive. But he didn't notice, and even if he had, the long-missed sensation of dipping a finger inside his young lover would have wiped it from his mind.

Harry squirmed at first, jabbing his hips down to get more of Angeal's fingers inside before settling down and slowing his breathing so that his body would relax and open up more. He'd missed this, oh god he'd missed this.

Too bad Angeal was only a ghost. The colors were swirling crazier than ever now, blending together with and overlapping every physical vibration that followed the path of Angeal's hands. He moaned into Angeal's mouth as he pressed his lips to his, hips aligning and sliding together.

Harry felt like he was going to pass out from the sensory overload, and fancied that there was a musical rhythm to their lovemaking. It was slow and steady like the beat of a drum and the pounding of his heart in his chest. The twangs of ecstasy every time Angeal scraped past his prostate with agonizing slowness were like an accompaniment of guitars. And the way Angeal wouldn't stop _looking at him _like that was the sound of violins, rising and falling with the intensity of those beautiful brown eyes.

On some people brown eyes are plain, but Angeal's were spectacular because they were his.

Harry groaned and whimpered and even shrieked, reaching a crescendo of nirvana that Angeal joined him in shortly afterwards, body jolting near-violently against his as he found his release. Lips fluttered over his face and hair in the aftermath, when his heart was trying to figure out what beat it wanted to pump to.

He barely noticed when Angeal lifted him in his arms and carried him through the flat until he found the bathroom. The roar of water as he turned the taps startled Harry, and he almost fell out of his lap. Angeal sat on the toilet and held Harry to his sticky chest while the tub filled. As an afterthought he added some menthol oil that was sitting out on the sink counter, looking like it'd been used recently.

Dipping his toe into the water to check the temperature and deeming it hot enough, he sank down. Harry hissed as his body was enveloped by steamy mint-scented water, but became accustomed to it.

Angeal stroked the damp curls at the nape of his neck absently, staring at the tiled wall as they soaked away the evidence of their lovemaking.

Harry fell asleep before Angeal emptied the tub. He dried him carefully without waking him and carried him to the bedroom. The sheets were tousled and several different pairs of underpants were strewn around the floor. He smirked and laid Harry on the left side of the bed, pulling the sheets and covers up around him.

Harry muttered something in his sleep and turned his head to nose his pillow.

Angeal climbed in on the other side of him and just watched him sleep until morning came.

~000~

When Harry woke, he groaned aloud. Why had he dreamed about _him? _Those dreams always made him miserable come morning and a mysterious ache start up in his chest. Pretending wasn't enough for him; he wanted Angeal to come back for real, and he hated the Order for separating them. Angeal didn't seduce him: he willingly gave himself to the man.

Looking around, he spotted an indentation on the pillow next to his. Frowning as hope blossomed in his chest; he slowly lifted it to his face and inhaled deeply.

It smelled like a garden and like sword polish, with just a hint of menthol. _Angeal. Angeal was here._

He curled into a ball, knowing that he would have left already. He held the pillow close and squeezed his eyes tight. If he was lucky, Angeal wouldn't be too afraid to come back and face him when they were both thinking straight.

Angeal didn't disappoint, and two weeks later he accidentally-on-purpose bumped into Harry at the coffee shop he frequented most weekend. Harry wanted to throw his arms around his neck and kiss him until there was no air left in his lungs, but he restrained himself and settled for a warmer-than-necessary hello.

Angeal was the one who kissed him in front of the whole coffee shop, seeming without a care as to who saw them.

~000~

End Paper Wings

Randomosity. You gotta love it.


End file.
